


who's gonna tell you things (aren't so great?)

by coastcitytourism



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Shutdown, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but its a different reaction, this is just as angsty as youre on the mend just so were clear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:07:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coastcitytourism/pseuds/coastcitytourism
Summary: "...if he has to sit there forever until Pierre starts feeling better, he's willing."Or, a different kind of response to the team switch- the opposite side of  "you're on the mend" coin.





	who's gonna tell you things (aren't so great?)

**Author's Note:**

> so...i wanted to explore both the "emotional overload" and the "emotional shutdown" we tend to experience when something overwhelming happens, and this is the result. "youre on the mend" is more on the overload side, consider this more of my alternative take on that. this was...easier and harder for me to write, i think traumatic responses where a character shuts down are rarer than emotional breakdowns because theyre harder to sympathize with and in a sense romanticize...but i tried? this felt better for me to write, anyways.  
as usual, please do not copy or repost elsewhere without my permission. this is a work of pure fiction.  
title is from "drive" by the cars

When the lock of Pierre's flat clicks open, Charles is completely and utterly unsurprised at the sight that beholds him. The entire apartment is dark save for one dim light in the entry corridor, and Charles can only make out what appears to be a lump of Frenchman bundled up in a thick blanket on the couch.

What's more startling to Charles is Pierre's reaction- or rather, his lack thereof- when the lights come on. The older driver's eyes don't seem to lose their focus on the blank TV screen in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed up in some thought that Charles is pretty sure is self deprecating.

The Monagasque sets the grocery bag he has in one hand down to the floor and sighs, speaking quietly at first as to not startle his already distraught boyfriend from where he lays solemnly on the sofa.

"Pierre," he tries at first, his voice gentle and soothing. When that doesn't get a response, it turns a little harsher, a little louder. "Hello, earth to Pierre? Anyone in there?" 

Pierre still doesn't look up from his post, shivering slightly against the cold and wait- Charles is confused, why is Pierre shivering? It's not even cold in here.

"Pierre!" he finally shouts, frustrated that his boyfriend won't snap out of his trance, which finally incurs a reaction from the Frenchman, who flinches. There's a brief moment of silence before Pierre breaks it.

"How did you get in here," he deadpans, but something about his voice sounds off to Charles. The sheer lack of emotional certainly is offputting. 

"With a key. Y'know, the one that you gave me over the winter break? As a gift for us both moving into top 3 teams-" Charles winces at his own words, realizing that now is almost certainly not the time to talk about any teams, but Pierre doesn't seem to notice, and if he does he doesn't react to it. 

Charles reaches down and grasps his grocery bag again, sets it up on the counter- something for dinner, so he can at least ensure Pierre isn't inadvertantly starving himself with his apathy. He unpacks everything, goes to the fridge and fills two glasses with water before returning to the living room, where Pierre has zoned out once again.

He gently urges the Frenchman to sit up, hands him one of the glasses of water- which Pierre eyes with some disgust, reluctantly takes a sip of and looks pained while he swallows it before setting it back onto the table- and plops down in the space Pierre just created, throwing an arm around the older driver.

"Est-ce que ça va bien?" Charles starts, wishes that Pierre would look over at him so he could have some measure of what he was feeling, but Pierre carefully keeps his face neutral, his voice monotonous.

"Fine. Just fine, actually." 

"Pierre," Charles states simply, but Pierre just tugs the blanket further over his body. He feels warmer to the touch- Charles mentally notes to check and see if its due to illness, stress, a lack of sleep, or a twisted combination of several factors. The younger of the two sets his glass on the table as well, notices the half opened packages of bright blue clothes Pierre doesn't want, strewn haphazardly across the surface. The knife in Charles heart twists a little.

"Pierre," Charles starts once again, voice slightly firmer, "Pourquoi ne parlez-vous pas en français?" He already knows the answer already, knows it's all part of Pierre's awful self punishment ritual, but he also holds a bit of hope it'll egg him into doing something, anything emotional.

Pierre laughs humorlessly, speaks with a little bit of bitterness in his voice. "You're right. Or maybe I should be practicing my Italian instead. For the team."

The word team drips off his tongue like poison, and Charles noticed the slight deflation of the Frenchman's shoulders. He rubs circles onto Pierre's arm and scoots closer so he can share his body warmth with the shivering form. He hates seeing Pierre like this, shut down, completely numb and completely opposite his normal smiley self. Sometimes Charles just wishes Pierre would act a bit more volatile- let himself cry or scream or punch a wall, do something tangible so Charles knows how to comfort him and make it better, but instead Pierre just compartmentalizes his pain and frustration, tucks it away into some little corner of his brain and doesn't let him bother him- until it grows too much and he shuts down completely, completely indifferent to the rest of the world. 

There's not much Charles can say to make it better- all he can do is remain a comforting presence until the stubborn bit of unfeeling resolve left in Pierre finally cracks and he finally talks, finally experiences everything he's repressed. He opens his mouth and struggles to find words to say, finally settles on something.

"I love you. I'll be here when you're ready to talk."

Pierre finally, finally looks over, makes eye contact and Charles swears he can catch something flash in those familar blue eyes, but it's gone in a moment.

"I know," Pierre mumbles, "love you too." He yawns, and Charles knows that for all of the laying in darkness Pierre has probably done, very little of it has been actual sleep. Charles gently tugs him, adjusts the way they're seated until Pierre is stretched back out on the couch, his head resting on Charles lap with the Monegasque's right hand gently carding through the three day old tangles in Pierre's hair. It doesn't take long until Pierre's eyes are closed, and he's sniffling in his sleep, warm breaths catching the hair on Charles's thigh. Charles melts a little further back into the couch cushions, his own eyelids feeling heavy. His foot has started to go numb, but he doesn't mind- if he has to sit there forever until Pierre starts feeling better, he's willing.

**Author's Note:**

> once again, thank you for reading this far. all feedback and commentary is appreciated-  
in addition...the events of today are hard to swallow, what happened in F2...and if it affected you, even if you don't know the drivers personally, its okay to feel emotional and need to talk about it. its hard to process that sort of thing, i know that watching it happen on the stream was hard for me. if you need to reach out please do, my inbox is open and I am here to listen.  
thank you again.


End file.
